Evocative
by vvheel
Summary: She was still Beth, scars and all. And she haunted and emboldened him. One-shot reunion fic. Bethyl.


**Disclaimer: ****Everything I'm being creative with here belongs to Robert Kirkman, TPTB, and AMC.**

_Every since we met, I only shoot up with your perfume.  
><em>_It's the only thing that makes me feel as good as you do.  
><em>- _"Nearly Witches", Panic! At the Disco_

* * *

><p>Some would look back on when they found Beth with fond memories of having faith, but Daryl knew the truth of it. He was a realist, after all. Instead of tears and <em>I knew you were alive<em>, there was simply an air of shock.

Even he was affected by it. He struggled to move and an insane part of him flirted with the idea of _running away._ Because he never got what he wanted. That was never the hand that life dealt him, being your regular back-of-the-woods hick and all. Guys like him were meant to drink themselves to death by forty.

It took the fucking apocalypse for something good to happen to Daryl Dixon.

And lucky for him, he didn't have to do much moving at all. Because she had used all the strength in her small frame to limp towards him, eyes squinted from the sun or something else. He rationalized with himself that he was simply the closest to her at the time, emerging from that cold hospital building. And it was good, they were good. The whole scene just a minute ago had reminded him of Sophia and the barn and he had felt sick to his stomach. Until she blinked up at him, blue eyes widened and shining and _alive _like he'd hung the fucking moon for her. If that's what it took to get her back, he would have done it or died trying.

Her thin arms were wrapped around his waist, much like when she had hugged him for comfort so long ago. But she was pressed to his back then. Now her head was pressed against his chest and instead of his arms hanging limply by his side, he found that he was hugging her back. Maybe a little too tightly, because she looked up at him, brows furrowed in worry. He scoffed, a familiar yet uncertain emotion filling his chest. Of course after everything _she _was worried about _him._

He wanted to say something, anything to maybe pour out all the emotion he'd been trying to hold back since he'd last seen her, but the shock still hadn't settled and he was mute. It didn't help that he could clear as day see the long scars on her forehead and cheek, stitched up but forever marking her. Noticing them make him feel sick and enraged and his arms loosed to go find the bastards that dared touch her. Her cool hand on his face stopped him and with a shake of her head, he knew that they were all dead, every one of them. He'd never felt so proud of her, before.

Maggie was beside them in an instant, too shocked to see her sister to question the affection between her and Daryl. Beth took the opportunity of his loosened arms to step back and out of his reach so that she could hug Maggie. With a strangled sob, Maggie broke the tension and the rest of the group approached, greeting Beth with hugs and whispered words of kindness and encouragement. Beth was part of the family again. Not that she wasn't before, but none of them seemed to be lamenting it as much as Daryl had. He figured he couldn't blame them for assuming she was long dead, they hadn't seen the changes he had during their time together.

He didn't make a move to get near her again. Not until they were back at the church, when she wasn't surrounded by people and a baby in her arms. The latter took much longer, as Beth had taken so well to Judith that she couldn't possibly get away from her until Carol and Rick showed her every new thing she could do. If Daryl had learned anything from Beth, it was patience. And he waited, taking first shift on watch as soon as they got back. Glen had found it a bit suspicious and tried to cover for Daryl so that he could "go be with Beth", but one look had the younger man shrugging and walking off.

Glen was your showy type, his marriage with Maggie had said that much. But Daryl didn't want to be that. All he knew was instinct, and instinct told him that he wanted, no _needed_, to be alone with her. He couldn't talk or really _see_ her with 15 pairs of eyes bearing down on him. He was sure she understood. They knew each other so well at this point.

The moon was high in the sky by the time someone came and got him. It was Rick of all people, looking pleased yet no less exhausted than usual. He didn't try to talk to Daryl like Glen had, just simply placed a hand on his shoulder with a knowing look. And Daryl appreciated it because Rick understood from the one conversation they had about Beth. He knew what Daryl was feeling.

She was too energized from seeing her family again to sleep yet, though it was late in the evening. The church was huge, bigger than it looked on the outside, and everyone was settled in bedrooms by their comfort groups. Father Gabriel kept to his own quarters and out of everybody, Beth only showed apprehension for meeting him. It made Daryl a little sad, seeing how the hospital made her less able to see the good in people. Not that Father Gabriel was much good. His sins were unforgivable, but Beth didn't know about them yet.

She was sitting in the library of all places, a baby blanket still strewn on the floor from when she was playing with Judith. She was curled up on a cushioned chair, a book opened in her hands. It mustn't have been very interesting, because as soon as her blue eyes snapped up to meet his, the book was closed and forgotten on the floor.

"Daryl." was all she said, but his gut felt like he'd been struck with a bat. He tried keeping his cool, standing by the door frame until she smiled at him, nodded her head towards the seat next to her. He strode to it, scooting it nonchalantly over until he was sitting and facing her. She blinked up at him, looking every bit as surreal and inviting as she had the last day he'd seen her.

They weren't back to that moment in the kitchen of the funeral home, too much time had passed, but the same energy was in the air and he knew she felt it, too. Before she could say anything else, emotions took the best of him and he lifted a hand to her face, thumb over but not quite touching the scar. "That hurt?"

"I woke up with it, don't remember much about it." she swallowed, eyes not leaving his as she continued. "The one on my forehead hurt, still does."

It looked fresher, the stitches still black and new and he would have to go about finding some surgical scissors to cut them out for when it was ready. He ran his thumb just below the scar, feeling how smooth her skin was compared to the angry red line above it. He didn't want to speak, but his anger got the best of him. "They dead?"

A coldness filled her eyes, but she still remained Beth and he was thankful for that. "Every last one of them." The glow of the gas lamp flickered and he could see it reflected in her gaze.

He dropped his hand, trying to steer himself to calmness and failing miserably. "Good. I woulda gone back there and killed 'em myself 'fore daring to hurt ya."

She smiled, a real smile just like the ones he'd remembered when he was frantically searching for her. He had this very face in mind when his foot was pressing the gas pedal of the car all the way to the ground. Suddenly, his shoulders tensed and his hands started shaking. He was about to run away, escape with the dignity he had left, until she grabbed them, holding them still in his lap. He let out a shaky breath, trying to quell the panic and relief that ran in his veins, but to no avail. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and pressed her hands to his lips, still grasping his. His head was low and he couldn't look into her eyes. She leaned forward as well, pressing her lips to the top of his head. He felt her steady breath on him.

He'd gone quiet, waiting until his breathing was normal again to move and look back up at her. The smile was gone for her face now, replaced with a pained grin and watery eyes. Her grip on his hands loosened and he ran his hands up her arms, to her shoulders and used his strength to pull her closer until she was curled up on his lap. The chair was large like a recliner and provided enough room to be comfortable, but she still grasped to him tightly. Her head was pressed to the crook between his neck and shoulder, hiding the scar on her forehead but he was still able to see the one on her face clearly.

She whispered to him like she was afraid he would leave at any moment. "I knew you would find me. Didn't stop me from trying to find you first." He couldn't see if she was smiling or not. "I'm never leaving your side again, Daryl Dixon."

He felt the meaning in her words and knew this was a sort of revelation on her part. An admittance of needing him. He paused for a few moments, taking it all in. She felt so small, but she was surrounding him and he could feel how cool she was to the touch, despite the warmth of the church. He cleared his throat, having stayed silent for too long. "Yer damn right you ain't ever leaving again. In fact," he circled her arms around her tighter, "yer stayin' right here. You ain't leaving for bed without a fight."

He heard her laugh and felt the tears streaming down her face, brushing them off with her hands as she grinned into his neck. "No arguments here."

He looked around the room, taking it how small it was with all the books lining the walls and shelves. It was just them, like it had been before. He looked down to notice she was wearing a yellow shirt, similar to the dirty one she'd been wearing under a gray cardigan when she looked up at him, expecting some vague answer on what changed his mind. He'd memorized every detail he could from that night, playing it over and over again in his head. "Hey..." the memories of then mixed with those of pain and loss from later that evening gave him the courage to speak.

She lifted her head from him, looking up at him expectantly, similar to before, but with less of an amused spark in her features. It was then that he continued to let horrible memories strengthen him when he lightly dragged his thumb across the scar on her face, feeling the roughness of the scar without flinching away or moving to the skin below. He wanted her to know that they were nothing to be afraid of. Tough words, words he should probably take himself considering his back, but he would wait on that predicament for another time. Tonight was about Beth. Speaking of one blonde-haired woman in his lap, she was staring at him, right into his soul and he did his best not to flinch too much away from it.

Her looks hadn't lost their intensity and how they made him feel on edge. She was higher than him by only inches, peering down at him. The weight on his hand on the small of her back gave her some muted encouragement and she leaned forward, closing the gap between them, save for a fraction of an inch. He could feel the softness of her lips grazing his and she waited, eyes half-lidded. She was giving him 90 percent, as usual, and all he had to do was provide the last 10 percent. Lord fucking knows he'd denied her that extra push so many times in so many ways before, but he'd be a fool to do it now. After everything they'd been through, she deserved this. Maybe he did too.

He pressed his lips to hers, careful not to spill the carefully-hidden emotions within him. And, as with all things emotional involving Daryl Dixon, he failed fantastically. His grip on her tightened as he desperately pulled her against him. She gasped when he did, in a way that spoke pleasure and not the one that fell from her lips when she spotted a walker. Her hands were gripping his shoulders, fingers curling in the fabric on his shirt and one of his hands tangled in the back of her hair.

He'd taken advantage of the second gasp, running his tongue along her lip. She still tasted like the rabbits they'd all shared for dinner. Appropriate, considering he'd hunted for them himself. She nodded quickly and he almost laughed despite himself. She was inexperienced and showing it but he couldn't find himself to give a damn because she was finally in his arms and _alive_. And that's all he'd wanted. Beth dying would have been the death of faith and light in the world. He could keep encouraging and pushing through to Washington DC with the rest if he thought she was still out there, finding her way to him, too. But without her, he knew he'd go catatonic or worse, completely gone like Carol had been until Beth's light shone on her as well. Not only had Beth given him hope, but she _was_ his hope.

Everything happening right now was just a bonus. She was grinning widely at him when they broke the deepening kiss to breath and he found himself grinning back. Her eyes were still half-lidded and the look on her face would haunt his thoughts and dreams, but they both needed some sleep before the doubtless early morning tomorrow. He quickly kissed the pout off her pretty mouth and convinced her to leave their little sanctuary with the promise of taking her hunting tomorrow.

She laced his hand in hers, pulling him out of the room. It wasn't like the first time, when it had been a mix of grief and something else. Now it was hope and...something else. Something he didn't understand quite yet and wasn't ready to understand quite yet. He chewed on his thumb, a nervous habit, and let her pull him down the hallway in the darkness.

Standing outside the door where Maggie and Glen were undoubtedly sleeping next to an empty bed, Beth turned to him, her mouth opening to bid him a farewell. Instead, she was stopped short when he leaned down and kissed the scar on her cheek, mindful of the one on her forehead. He would kiss that one when it was fully healed. And maybe one day she would do the same for the scars on his back. He gave her hand a final squeeze and she smiled, watching him leave until he was at the door to his solitary bedroom.

Never again would they go out of each others' sight.


End file.
